


Dream A Little Dream Of Me

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Discovery, Dreams, John Gets Wise, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Series 1-ish, Sherlock Panics, Sherlock Wants To Be Better, Sherlock tries to be clever, Sherlock's Insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John determines he can manipulate his dreams, Sherlock gets caught up in proving he's the one who's actually in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dream Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It was finally over. John was walking home from what was probably the oddest date he'd ever been on. The whole time -- literally the whole time they were together -- she had been lecturing John on how easy it was to control your dreams, to go to bed and plan out beforehand what you wanted to see when you fell asleep. She had shared her own wild dreams, talked about the class she taught about it at the community centre, tried to make John agree to write about it in his blog, then said she was going to write her own book about it one day. John all but ran out of the restaurant, not even giving her a proper answer when she asked if he was going to see her again. She assured him that she was going to see him for sure, tapping her temple. He shook his head just thinking about it. 

When he got close to the flat, he stopped for some milk and biscuits, remembering they were running low on both. He let himself in and looked around for Sherlock. Was he sleeping already? "Hello?" he called out, moving into the kitchen. 

Sherlock was sitting in his chair in his bedroom reading, though the noise made him realise he'd been looking at the same page for a half hour and had no idea what it said. "John, I'm in my room," Sherlock called through his closed bedroom door. He left it at that, even though he was secretly pleased that John was home so early.

"Oh, sorry," John called back. He put the milk and biscuits away, starting the kettle while he went to change out of his date clothes. Once in comfortable pajamas, he came back down with his laptop, poured his tea, and then settled onto the sofa to start typing up the last case they had worked on.

Sherlock heard John fussing in the kitchen, but there was no offer of tea. Annoying. He stood up and walked into the sitting room, plopping down on his chair. "I've not had tea all day, you know, because there was no milk," he said, humphing a little.

"I left a little bit of milk when I left this morning," John said, looking over at him. "I know it was enough for your tea. I have brought milk home, and the water in the kettle is still hot." He waved his hand towards the kitchen as if presenting it to Sherlock, before smiling and going back to his typing. 

"Enough milk for _one_ cup of tea, not enough for a day's worth of tea," Sherlock said, standing up to move to the kitchen. "No reason to punish me, just because your date was horrible," he muttered as he clicked on the kettle.

"I am not punishing you, Sherlock. I split the milk evenly between us and I have brought more home. Don't get cross with me over something so silly. And my date was not horrible. Just . . . odd," he said. He made a face remembering all of the dream talk and shook his head. 

Intriguing, thought Sherlock. He poured his tea and moved back to his chair, putting his feet up on the table. "Odd. . . in what way? 'My one true love is my cat' odd or 'I hope you don't mind I brought my boyfriend on our date' odd?" he asked, smiling a little.

John grinned. "She was the 'I can control my dreams and I am going to teach you how as well' kind of odd. That's all she talked about."

"I see," Sherlock said. "And were you a good pupil?" he asked. "Have you got tonight's dreams all planned out then?"

John raised his brows. "Come on -- do you really think that's possible? It's a subconscious thing that can't be controlled." 

"Obviously," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. "Why do you choose these women, John? Are you some kind of crazy magnet? Is it your jumpers, do you think? Maybe you should stop with the jumpers -- they seem to attract weird women."

John rolled his eyes. "My jumpers make me adorable, Sherlock." He smiled and looked back at his computer before continuing. "Besides, getting to know someone is the point of dating. When you first meet someone, it's just a fleeting first impression so you date to learn more. We dated. I learned she was crazy. That's all." He shrugged, wishing they would change the subject now. He hated talking about failed dates -- he was already very aware of how many he went on and didn't need Sherlock pointing out the staggering numbers. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "Don't be so tetchy." He smiled at John. "You're right -- your jumpers are lovely." He drank some more tea. "I'm sure one day you'll find a not crazy one. One day you'll make all your dreams come true." He laughed at himself a little.

"You're so funny," John said sarcastically. "You know, though, she might have made some good points," John admitted.

"In what way?" Sherlock asked. "Control your dreams to control your life?"

"No, just control my dreams -- why not, I could use an enjoyable night's sleep and maybe I'll have some insight into life. I think I'm going to try it," John smiled.

"Did you just fancy her then?" Sherlock asked. "If you fancy her, you don't have to pretend with me. You don't have to convert to professional dream weaving -- just ask her out again." 

"I'm not going to ask her out again, but I am curious to see if it'll work," John said.

"John, don't be daft. If you want to control your dreams, you don't have to rely on any of her tricks. Watch a horror film before bed -- you immediately double your chances of having a nightmare. All dreams are is your unconscious sorting the info you've filled your day with. They're not going to uncover some deep secret about yourself or your life. Nor are they going to reveal the winning lottery numbers, if that's what you're thinking," he stood up and stretched. "Why are you so influenced by pretty ladies, John Watson?" He headed to the kitchen to rinse his mug.

"We'll see. I'm going to try it tonight and perhaps I will prove you wrong," John said. He ignored the last part of Sherlock's statement and went back to his blog.

"Whatever, John," Sherlock said. "You're an odd duck, you know. An odd duck who wears unusual jumpers." He stretched again. "I'm going back to my room to read. Do you work tomorrow?"

John nodded. "Yeah I do. But no date," he smiled.

"Perhaps you'll dream one up?" Sherlock said. "See you in the morning," he added as he headed into his room. He decided to read in bed this time. He slid under the covers and began reading -- soon he was deep into the text and no longer thinking about John or his date or his dreams. After a few hours, though, he woke up; he looked at the book and marked his spot, and then set it on the bedside table. He turned off the light and rolled over to see if he could fall asleep properly.

John went up to bed when he finished his entry. He lay down and cleared his mind, deciding he'd dream about going on holiday. He imagined it, imagined what he wanted to see, and describing the images until he finally dozed off. That night he dreamed about being in Hawaii, learning how to surf from a lovely teacher. When he woke up his first thought was to gloat to Sherlock. He dressed quickly and hoped Sherlock was up.

Sherlock heard movement in the flat and turned over. His book fell against his head -- he must have woken up and started reading again. He tried to find his place and then set the book back on the nightstand. He put on his dressing gown and went out to start the tea.

John grinned when he saw Sherlock, making his toast at the counter. "I did it," he said.

"Good work," Sherlock said. He turned and handed John his mug of tea. "Did what?"

"Controlled my dream," John said, raising his mug in thanks.

"Is that so?" Sherlock said skeptically. "And how did you manage that?"

"I did what she said. Cleared my head, imagined, meditated, everything," he grinned.

"Right, John -- in other words you did what _I_ said: thought about something then dreamt about it," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. Then he looked over at John. "Oh my god, John -- you believe it. You honestly believe it was something . . . special, don't you? Does this mean you're going to go out with her again?"

"You were talking about random stimulus. I did this because I wanted to," John said.

"Okay, right," Sherlock said. "You're magic now. My flatmate is magic . . . that'll take a little while to get used to, but fine. I'll work on that today." He moved over to his desk and sat down.

"Don't be angry because you were wrong. I have to go to work now. See you later," John said as he walked out and headed for the office.

Once John was out the door, Sherlock said aloud, "I'm not angry, John, because I am not wrong. And I . . ." he stood up to watch John walk down the street, ". . . am going to prove it." He started to have a think.

He needed to find some idea -- some thought to plant into John's head so that when John dreamt of it tonight, he could prove that John had no more control over his dreams than Sherlock had control over John's dreams. Visualisation, meditation -- absolutely irrelevant. For a second, he paused to wonder if this woman had drugged John to turn him gullible, but then realised that was probably unlikely and rather stupid. He looked around the flat. He needed something that he could work into conversations without it seeming too unusual yet something that might work its way into John's dream on its own. He glanced at the door and then smiled. He took out a piece of a paper and on it wrote:

_On Friday night, you dreamt of keys. SH_

Then he slid the paper into an envelope and carried it downstairs where he knocked on Mrs Hudson's door.

She answered it and looked him up and down. "You should get dressed before you go out in the morning."  
  
"I've not gone out, I'm coming in," he said, walking past her and sitting down at her table. "No tea, please. I just need you to do a small favour for me." He took out the envelope and a pen. "Could you please watch me seal this and then sign it to show you've just watched me?"

He licked it and pressed the envelope closed. He turned it over and handed the pen to Mrs Hudson. "Please write 'Sherlock sealed this envelope in front of me on the morning of Friday the 26th of September 2014'. Don't worry -- it's not legally binding."

Mrs Hudson sighed. "I don't like when you involve me in your little games, Sherlock." She signed it across the seal.

"Yes, you do," Sherlock said, smiling. He stood up. "Please keep a hold of this. John shall be coming down tomorrow morning to request it." He leaned in and touched her arm and went back upstairs, feeling rather pleased with himself.

He took a quick shower and got dressed. Then he went to his desk drawer and found an old set of keys. He took three out and then decided that was too much so put one back. Then he carried one and dropped it into the drawer that held the silverware and set the other above the hook where John always hung his coat. He picked up his phone to send John a text.

_New case. Looks interesting. Would like your opinion but I think I might have already found the key. SH_

Sherlock knew he was smiling. He loved being clever. He set the phone down and opened his laptop to check his email.

John was just getting to lunch when he got Sherlock's message.

_What's the case? -JW_

_A body found near North Quay. What time are you back? SH_

_I can get out at four. -JW_

_I'll give you the details when you get home. SH_

Sherlock called Lestrade to find out if he actually had anything to work on. He didn't. This annoyed Sherlock. He decided to go out for a walk. When he returned to the flat, he stopped at Mrs Hudson's door. "One more quick favour," he said. "You'll hear John come home around 4.15. Could you please catch him on the stairs and give him these, explaining that I accidentally left them down here earlier?" he handed her his key ring.

"You are very demanding today, Sherlock Holmes," she said, taking the keys.

"I am very demanding every day, Mrs Hudson," he said and made his way up the stairs.

John pawned off his last two patients and headed for the flat, wondering if they would be leaving as soon as he walked in. He hurried up the stairs and was caught by Mrs. Hudson. "Sherlock forgot these earlier, dear." She smiled and headed back inside. That was odd. Sherlock never forgot anything. He made his way up again and called out for Sherlock.

"I have your keys as well," he said, holding them up. 

"Odd," Sherlock said, looking up from his laptop. "You're home early. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I thought we had a case, that's why I came home," John said. He put the keys on the desk and watched him.

"Oh, right, yes, that's been sorted," Sherlock said, closing his laptop. "I'd love to say it was me, but it wasn't. I'd barely started working on it when Lestrade called to say everything was done. I was half way to solving it anyway. Shame, though -- it'd be good to have a new case, wouldn't it? He said he'd call again as soon as he had something." He stood up from his desk and moved to the sofa, plopping down on it. "What's for dinner?" he asked, picking up the remote and flipping through the channels.

John watched him and got a bit annoyed that he'd come all the way home for nothing. He'd have to pick up some extra patients tomorrow to make up for it. "I didn't bring anything because I thought we'd be out."

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, sitting up and looking at him. "I should have texted but I didn't know you would come home early. How about I treat us to dinner? Go out or order in -- you choose."

"It's fine. I just got excited for the case I suppose," he said. He went and hung his jacket up, toeing of his shoes. "That makes you two for two now. Lestrade solved a case faster than you?"

"Don't insult me when I've just offered to buy you dinner," Sherlock said. "He had more information than I did. Besides I didn't say he solved it, I just said it was done." He flopped back on the sofa. "And what do you mean, two for two?"

"First the dream thing and now this," John said. "I'm only teasing, Sherlock."

"Oh yeah, right," Sherlock said. "Well, I guess I just didn't realise how special you are. Feel free to dream an apology from me." He pulled a face at John and went back to watching the television.

John hit him with a pillow as he passed, moving to look through the take out menus they had. "I'm thinking pizza, does that sound good?"

"No," Sherlock said. "But we can have it." He sat up and pulled out his wallet and phone. "What do you want? I'll order it."

"The meat lovers, I think. Do you want me to will it into our flat with my mind?" John grinned.

"Yes, you try that. I'll eat the one that's delivered," Sherlock said, dialing the number. He ordered the pizza and gave his card details. "Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street," he said before pausing. "Yes, it is an unusual name. No, it's Sherlock . . . Lock . . . L-O-C-K." He hung up and turned to John. "Thirty minutes. What do you want to watch?" He pushed the remote towards John and lay back down on the sofa.

"I don't need the remote, I'm going to change the channels with the power of my mind." John touched his temple with one hand and put the other very obviously on the remote between them.

"Impressive," Sherlock said. "You'll be even more useful on the next case." He stretched his legs a little to press against John's. He looked over at the television. "Surely you didn't mean to actually choose this, did you?"  
  
"No, I don't know what's on tonight." John picked up the remote, flipped through the channels and settled on an old movie. He got up for the pizza and served it in plates before coming back to the sofa. Without realising it, he scooted closer so Sherlock's feet were touching him again.  When the movie ended John took the plates to the sink and stretched. "I'll do those when I get back from work."

"Why do you have to go to work all the time?" Sherlock said, picking a little at his pizza. "I'm sick of it." He looked over and smiled. "If a case comes in, I promise to keep you up to date."

"I go to work to pay bills. And I need to keep busy," John said. "I have the weekend off so don't worry. I'm off to bed now. Good night."

"Did you lock the door?" Sherlock asked, sitting up. "I'll check it," he added, moving over to the door. "Yes, it's locked. Good night then," he said, heading towards his room. Now the game was on.


	2. Sherlock Is Not Satisfied

When John went up to his own room, he decided that last night's dream was so nice, he'd try dreaming it again. But when he fell asleep his mind was blank or at least when he woke up, he simply didn't remember anything that he'd dreamt. He took a quick shower and made his way down to start the kettle and breakfast.

Sherlock read for most of the night, letting himself close his eyes for short naps at the end of each chapter. When he heard John in the shower, he stood up and stretched, put on his dressing gown and went into the kitchen, prepared to be proven right. 

"I just poured the tea, it should still be hot," John said when he saw Sherlock. He smiled and started on his toast while reading the paper.

"Have any dreams last night?" Sherlock tried to ask as casually as he could.

"Nope. None that I remember anyways," John said. "I tried going on holiday again, but it didn't work."

"Come on," Sherlock said. "Have a good think."

John shrugged, but he took a second to remember his night. Or try to remember. "I got nothing," he said. "There's still pizza so I am not going to bring anything home with me tonight. I will see you later, okay?" 

"Right, fine," Sherlock said grumpily. "See you then." He moved over to his desk and pouted even more when John headed out without another word.

This was unacceptable to Sherlock.

He needed a new plan.

As John made his way down the stairs, he saw Mrs Hudson peeking out from her door. "Good morning," he said as he passed. 

"Are you leaving?" she asked, not coming all the way out. 

"Yeah, I'm working again today. He doesn't have a case still so maybe pop in a bit later and check on him," he smiled. He waved and left for good, taking a taxi this time. 

Mrs Hudson headed upstairs. "He didn't ask about the envelope," she said and she pushed open the door.

"I know he didn't, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said, glad to at least have an audience for his pouting.

"So you were wrong?" she asked, moving over to the sink and washing up the dishes from last night.

"Obviously, I wasn't wrong," Sherlock said. "I just . . . need to take a different route to being right."

"Are you being cruel to John?" she asked.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "I would never be cruel to John."

Mrs Hudson looked over.

"Fine, I mean, I would never be intentionally cruel to John. Well, never intentionally very cruel to John," Sherlock corrected.

"I should hope not," Mrs Hudson said. "John is very good and very good for you. You should treat him better than you treat anyone else, which isn't saying much, I suppose, since you treat everyone else so horribly."

"I promise you -- this is not about hurting John. If anything, I'm trying to help him . . . help him relax and get better sleep," Sherlock lied.

"I don't believe you," Mrs Hudson said, drying her hands on the tea towel. "You are doing nothing but trying to show off. Just don't be unkind to John while doing it." She gave him a serious face and headed back downstairs.

Sherlock did some research on sleep and dream patterns and came up with a new plan. Then he got up and put away the dishes Mrs Hudson had washed. He thought about John -- he was glad they had met. He was glad they lived and worked together. And were friends. John was his friend, his only friend. The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that this challenge really was about helping John. John had seemed quite relaxed the morning after he had so-called controlled his dreams. Yes, that's all Sherlock was doing really -- trying to help John relax.   
  
For the rest of the afternoon, he went back to some work he had started weeks ago but had never finished. He was glad when he noticed that it wasn't long until John would be back home.

John worked very hard that day. The third doctor never showed up, and Sarah was struggling to see her own patients on top of all of the others. John offered to help and realised he was going to be longer than he thought. He kept meaning to text Sherlock and let him know but there were so many people. Flus, STDs, coughing children, prostate checks, pregnant women -- by the end of the day John felt like his brain was throbbing in his head. Sarah knocked and popped her head in. "Just saw the last one. Want to go for a pint?" she asked.

John raised his brows. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Please, John, that ship sailed ages ago." She smiled and leaned against the door frame. "Just a quick one since we worked so hard."

He looked at the time and saw that it had already gone seven, and he still hadn't managed to text Sherlock. He imagined telling him that he was going out for a drink, but his stomach twisted a bit guiltily. _Why do you feel guilty? Just go for the drink._ "Sorry, Sarah.  How about Monday when we get off at a better time?"

Sarah shrugged, "I'm going anyways -- it's your loss. I was treating." She smiled and started walking off. "Say hello to the Mrs when you get home!" 

John rolled his eyes, but he felt his cheeks warm. He pulled out his phone as he was walking out of the building. 

_Sorry, we got busy. I am on my way home now. -JW_

Suddenly, he realised how tired he was. He couldn't wait to collapse into bed and was very glad he had the next two days off. When he got home, he hurried upstairs and hung his coat, remembering the dishes. He sighed heavily and went into the kitchen, smiling when he saw they were already done. "I did those with my mind," John teased, smiling softly. "Thanks, Sherlock." 

Sherlock had grown grumpy waiting for John, but for some reason when he finally got home, he felt like he should keep it to himself. In truth, the later John was home, the sooner he'd go to bed, and the sooner Sherlock could put his new plan into action.

"Your skills are really getting impressive. I could have sworn I watched Mrs Hudson do the washing up, but if you say you did them with your magic powers, I guess I'm wrong," Sherlock said. "Sorry you had a long day," he added quickly and quietly.

John opened his mouth to say something about Mrs. Hudson doing the dishes -- that was not what he meant when he wanted her to check on Sherlock -- but then Sherlock's last statement sort of stopped him in his tracks. "Um, thanks. Yeah, the other guy didn't show so we had to do a lot of extra. I tried to text you." 

"That's all right," Sherlock said. "You don't have to check in with me all the time if you don't want to." He got up and moved to the sofa. "The pizza's still there if you want to finish it."

"I just didn't want you to worry," John said, the words sounding a bit silly now as they came out. "I'm not hungry. I am just really tired and want to go to bed. Good night," he said, heading for the stairs and his room again. He got ready for bed, crawled under the covers and closed his eyes. He could hardly form two sentences in his mind before he was drifting off. 

Sherlock said good night to John and retired to his own room. He set his clock to buzz at the ideal time and laid down to wait. When he heard it, he got up as quietly as he could and moved to John's bedroom door. He listened but heard nothing so he pushed it open softly. John was asleep on his bed. Sherlock moved over to the side and looked down at him. 

Sherlock could see the movement behind John's eyes and knew he had come at the right time. But John's sleeping face also looked quite . . . sweet and for a moment, Sherlock thought about Mrs Hudson's words and wondered if this was cruel. Controlling, yes -- motivated by a selfish desire to be right, yes. But as long as he didn't put anything harsh into John's dream, Sherlock didn't think it was cruel. He'd put in something nice and then it really would be a generous act. Once he'd convinced himself of that, he bent down closer to John.

"The sound of the sea is so lovely," he whispered. "The air is warm. The sun is shining. Let's hire a boat, John, and go out into the water."

He moved slowly back up and watched John for a few moments before going back to his own room.

It was an odd night for John. He immediately had a strange dream that he couldn't quite make out -- just a lot of blurry images and dark colours. Then suddenly everything seemed to fall into place. The blurry images turned into a beach -- it was sunny and very warm. The dark colours swirled and turned into Sherlock. He was talking about getting a boat and John grinned, looking out at the water and nodding. When he woke up that morning he stared at the ceiling for a moment as he remembered what he'd seen. He had never dreamt of Sherlock before -- what did that mean? John sat up and rubbed his face to properly wake up. He decided to keep the details of this dream to himself; hopefully they wouldn't even talk about dreams today. He got up and headed downstairs. 

Sherlock had fallen asleep quite pleased with himself, sure this time he would be proven right. When he heard John moving in the kitchen, he stretched in the bed and got up, slipping on his dressing gown. 

Since John was making tea, Sherlock made some toast for both of them. "What are your plans for your day off?" he asked after saying good morning to John. He didn't want to appear too eager to find out about the dream experiment. Even though he was.

John shrugged. "I don't have anything planned. Maybe work on the blog a bit, touching up some of the old cases. What about you?"

"Not much on the schedule, I confess," Sherlock said. Then he couldn't take it anymore. "Did you work your dream magic last night?" he asked, not looking up at John.

John looked over and then down at his toast again. "You know, I was too tired to do it properly, but I dreamt of the beach again. I must be stronger than I thought," he smiled.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, smiling but trying to keep it inside.   
  
"The first time I did it I was on holiday on a beach in Hawaii," John smiled. "I was there again last night."

"What?" Sherlock asked angrily and then realised there wasn't really a legitimate reason for John to see him get angry. "Oh . . . Hawaii . . . I didn't know. That's your fantasy then, your ultimate retreat? I would've thought you'd pick somewhere more exciting."  
  
The words were coming out of Sherlock's mouth as if he were still there, present in the conversation. But already his mind was working. He'd need to do it again. He'd need to do some different -- something John definitely wouldn't dream on his own. He needed more information. "Is that the kind of thing you normally dream about -- I mean before you developed this super power, obviously?" he asked, preparing to mentally take notes on every detail John revealed. 

John looked up suddenly at Sherlock's tone, immediately thinking he was somehow angry at John. Why? "Well, you know what I used to dream about," he said quietly. "And ever since the nightmares stopped, it's just been . . . normal stuff. I don't know."

"I'm glad you don't have those dreams anymore," Sherlock said, softening his voice. "Well, it's good things are working out. Maybe you should go out with that woman again, just in case she has any other tricks to teach you."

"Um, when I want dating advice from you, Sherlock," John said. "I'll ask for it. Have you noticed that I haven't?" He smiled and sat down to eat his toast.


	3. Spending A Day Together

Sherlock took his toast and tea and moved over to his desk. He opened his email as he ate.

"Oh Christ," Sherlock said aloud and when John looked up, he explained that he had an email from his mother. "I need to sign something or pick something up or something -- in all honesty, I feel she's being deliberately unclear as all she really wants is to force me home." He checked his phone quickly to see if there were any texts from Mycroft; there was nothing. "Fine, Mother, you win." He looked over at John. "I'll go today to get it over with. I guess you'll be on your own for most of your day off though perhaps you see that as a good thing. Unless you want to come with?"  
  
John thought about that for a moment and didn't know how he could decline. He wanted to know what Sherlock's mum was like -- if she was anything like either of her sons. He couldn't imagine it. "I would like to come if you don't mind," he smiled. He didn't bother talking about the date or dreaming again. He simply wanted to move on now.

"All right," Sherlock said, typing a quick response. "We can go whenever we get ready." He finished his tea, stretched and said, "I think I'll have a shower."  
  
He moved to his room to get some clean clothes and quickly shaved and showered. He came out looking rather smart -- it was easier to look nice and deal with positive comments than to stay messy (as he had been planning to stay today) and deal with hassle.

John looked over at him and did a double take, flushing lightly when he realised his response. "I'm all set," John said, standing and closing the computer.

Sherlock led them out and got a taxi. "My mother can be a bit . . . bossy, but it'll be fine. She'll probably have food for us -- feel free to eat in your usual manner, she'll be pleased to see someone who actually enjoys food." He looked over and smiled lightly. "Thanks for coming. It's easier to deal with them when someone else is there."

"I confess it's purely selfish. I want to see more of your family," John admitted.

"You mean because Mycroft's been so charming thus far?" Sherlock asked. "They're all right. Annoying but all right."

John grinned. "I'm sure they're lovely," he said.

When they arrived, Sherlock led them both to the front. He looked over at John and smiled and then knocked at the door.

"Sherlock," his mother said as she opened the door. Then she looked at John. "Is this the flatmate?"

"Don't pretend you don't know who he is," Sherlock said, stepping into the house. "John, this is my mother. Mother, this is John." He took off his coat and hung it on the coat stand. He held out his hand for John's coat.

"It's lovely to meet you," John said, handing his coat to Sherlock and smiling in thanks. The house was really nice, and John found himself wishing he'd dressed up a bit more.

"And before you start quizzing him," Sherlock said to his mother. "John is responsible, kind, handsome and a doctor so you won't find any dirt on him."  
  
"Sherlock!" his mother said. She turned to John. "Clearly you are a saint if you can tolerate behaviour like this every day. There wasn't a day when he was growing up that his father and I didn't consider shipping him off."  
  
"You did ship me off -- to boarding school," Sherlock said.

"Hush, you know what I mean. Anyway, come in and have a cup of tea," she said, grabbing John by the arm and pulling him into the kitchen. Sherlock tagged along behind.

John felt his cheeks warm when Sherlock described him. He sat at the table while Sherlock's mum moved around the kitchen. "He's not so bad. I just have to keep him busy -- with cases and things like that," John added quickly.

"I'm right in the room, you know," Sherlock said to both of them. Then he turned to his mother. "So what is this reason you needed me to come straight away?"

"It's some paper you're supposed to sign. The solicitor sent it round -- I think it's literally to have your signature on file, it's not like something you have to read and then sign. Your father knows more about it. He'll be back this evening if you want to wait," he said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Let's see this paper," he said.  
  
"After our tea," his mum said, bringing over the tray. "Oh, biscuits!" she said, turning and bringing some over before sitting down at the table with them.

John smiled and took a biscuit, dipping it into his tea. "Is Mr Holmes working, then?" He was so curious about all of them. He hoped they stayed long enough so John could meet him as well.

"He's off on a jolly with some of his old work friends. Once they retired, they decided to continue to go on research trips together but in all honesty, I think the only history they're actually studying is the history of the local pubs. Still -- it keeps him busy," she said smiling. "So a doctor, eh? Do you actually work as one while you're also working with Sherlock? You must be busy."

"I only work part time at the surgery and, to be honest, my boss is used to me running off for a new case." John imagined Sherlock's father out drinking with friends, but he found it difficult -- neither Sherlock nor Mycroft did that. "I enjoy both."

Sherlock's mother kept chatting with John as they drank their tea, but Sherlock didn't really add much to the conversation. However, once his mother began telling stories from his childhood, he felt the conversation had gone on long enough. "Okay," he said. "This paper -- can I have a look now?"

"All right, Mr Impatient," she said, swatting his arm. "Let me go find it."

"We were just getting to the good stuff," John teased, drinking the last of his tea. "I want to go up and see your room, please." He grinned.

"John," Sherlock said. "What are you talking about? I didn't have a room when I lived here. They locked me in the shed and only let me out when they decided to send me to boarding school."

"Oh, stop! I'll tell your mum you said that," John grinned.

"Don't hassle me via her, please," Sherlock said. "Trust me, by the time we get home, she will have already drafted a long essay about why I should be more like you."

"Calm down," John smiled. "This is nice. Thanks for bringing me along."

"Thanks for coming," Sherlock said. "It makes a change at least . . ." He stood up. "Let me show you the garden -- it's quite lovely and if you tell my mother how lovely it is, you'll be in her good books forever." He moved to the side door, calling "We're going out back" to his mother.

"But I still want to see your room," John said.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "But you'll be disappointed, I think. There are no secrets hidden there." He looked out over the garden. "Nice, isn't it? Different than the city."

John looked around when Sherlock reminded him what they were doing and he gasped softly. "It really is lovely," he nodded.

"It is," Sherlock said and stood quietly for a few minutes. "It's nice for a short time -- gets a little suffocating living in it though." He turned around and nodded his head towards an upstairs window. "All right, let's go up to my room. But house rules are the door stays open and feet stay on the floor," he said, smiling and leading John in.

John grinned and said, "We're not teenagers, Sherlock."

"They still treat me like I'm one," Sherlock said, heading upstairs. He pushed open a door and said, "Here you go. Feel free to deduce away -- it doesn't reveal much."

John looked around the surprisingly bare room, not knowing what he had expected. "It's nice," he said lamely.

"Well . . . whatever," Sherlock said, looking around the room as well. "You know, John, if there's something you want to know about me, you can just ask." Then he thought about what he'd just said and realised he had no idea why he'd said. So he quickly added, "Come on, let's go find out what paper my mother's been going on about." He headed back downstairs.

"Yeah, all right," John said, filling away that first part of the conversation for himself. He followed Sherlock back down.

After inspecting the paper, Sherlock signed it. "Has Mycroft done his?" he asked.

"Not yet," his mother answered. "He's not as good as getting in touch with me as you are." She smiled and ruffled his hair.

Sherlock pulled his head back a little, both embarrassed and strangely pleased that he was winning over Mycroft in this apparent competition. "Well, I think we'll be heading off now," he said, looking over at John. 

John watched her ruffle Sherlock's hair and he grinned, finding it extremely amusing. He was glad he had tagged along on this trip with him, even if he properly didn't understand it. He was seeing a new side to Sherlock -- well, a different side -- but it was all very good. John was disappointed to not be meeting Sherlock's father but promised that he would be visiting again very soon, grinning when Sherlock groaned beside him. He took his coat and followed Sherlock outside again, waving one last time. "She was very nice, Sherlock."

"Yes, it's easy to say other people's mothers are very nice," Sherlock said, getting into the taxi. As they drove off, he said, "I hope you enjoyed your trip out. At least now you can't say I never take you anywhere." He smiled at him. "Anyway, thanks for coming along."

"Hey, what are you talking about -- you take me all over the city on interesting cases and adventures," John smiled.

"Well, now I've taken you somewhere without corpses," Sherlock said. "Not as nice as Hawaii but still . . ." He turned a little and looked out the window. He stayed quiet for the rest of the ride.

Once they got back to the flat, Sherlock checked his email first. "Still nothing from Lestrade," he said disappointedly. "Guess I won't be able to keep you busy tomorrow." 

"I'm sure we can find something to do," John said, moving into the kitchen to make tea. "Next time I go to Hawaii I'll take you with me to make up for it," he said without thinking. He glanced over to see how Sherlock would respond to that. 

"I don't like the sun," Sherlock said, but he looked up and gave John a little smile.

John rolled his eyes playfully. "I'll bring an umbrella so you don't burn, you big baby," he said. "I'll be busy learning to surf with the sexy teacher." 

"Probably just easier for you to go and send me a postcard," Sherlock said, clicking through emails and deleting them. "Was the dream controller a surfer as well? You're going to end up going out with her again, aren't you?"

"She wasn't a surfer at all, and I have told you a hundred times I am not going out with her again," he said. He brought Sherlock his tea and then settled into his own chair to read the papers. 

"So your sexy surfer teacher is your creation as well?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "I had only specified the holiday but it was a nice surprise," he said. 

"I see," Sherlock said. "I can't believe scientists aren't banging down the door wanting to research you and your magical skills." He closed his laptop and moved over to the sofa. "What are we doing for the rest of the night?" he asked as he flopped down.

John smiled but ignored the dream talk again. "Want to go for a walk? There's nothing on and I don't feel like going to bed just yet."

Sherlock sat back up. "All right then," he said, getting up and moving for his coat. "Where to -- anywhere specific?"

"No, just around," John said.  "I just want to get out for a bit."

"That works," Sherlock said. He headed downstairs and out on to the pavement. "Which way?" he asked John.

"Left," John said at random. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as they went.

"Excellent choice," Sherlock said. He walked quietly for a few minutes. "Am I all right as a flatmate, do you think? I'd prefer you to be honest, please."

"Yeah," John nodded.  "You're . . . different and interesting. I like living with you," he said. 

"Different and interesting aren't necessarily compliments," Sherlock said. "Still. I find your answer acceptable." He looked forward as they walked. "Do you think I'm also . . . cruel?"

"What? Where is that coming from?" John asked.

"Well, being around you . . . I meant what I said -- you are kind and it just reminds me that I'm . . . not. But not being kind is not the same as being cruel, is it?"

"Sherlock, you're not cruel or unkind." John tried to think back, wondering if he had done something to cause this. "I know I get upset when you do random experiments on me or shout at me when you don't have cases but it's all . . . it's normal for friends. For people who live together. You're..." He paused and licked his lips, feeling awkward about saying this sort of thing. "You're my best friend, the best thing to happen to me in a long time and just . . . know that, okay?" He picked up his pace to ease some of the nerves, looking around the street in mock interest.

Sherlock didn't know quite what to say -- he hadn't expected any of that. Finally, he just said, "Thanks."

John nodded as they continued quietly for a while. Then his curiosity got the better of him, winning over his awkwardness. "Why were you asking?" 

"Just --" Sherlock said before he'd actually thought about how he wanted to answer. "Just . . . I'd like to be better, at least to you, I guess." He wasn't entirely sure that expressed what he was trying to say, but this was probably because at the moment he wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to say.

"But you're fine. Great. Who told you that you weren't?" John asked, wondering mostly why Sherlock was reacting this way. Usually the things people said simply bounced away from Sherlock.

"John Watson," Sherlock said, glancing over at him. "You know the answer to that question. Basically everyone I've ever met has told me I'm horrible. And often I am. Which has always been quite fine with me." He swallowed and added, "But I don't want to be that way to you. You're kind to me and I . . . don't want to be horrible to you."

"I promise to let you know if you are ever being horrible, okay? I don't want you worrying about this," he said.

"I'm not worried . . . look, are we going somewhere specific or should we turn or turn around or something?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, we're just going in a big circle so we're heading back to the flat now," John pointed out. "Don't get cross with me -- I was just saying."

"I'm not cross," Sherlock said grumpily. "See what I mean? Not kind."

"Being grumpy is not being unkind, Sherlock. If that were the case I would the worst human in the world," he teased. 

"You're hardly ever grumpy. If anything, you're often relentlessly and annoyingly happy," Sherlock said. He looked over and smiled. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them a little. "It's gone a bit chilly."

"Well, we're just about home. We can have a nice cup of tea before bed," he said. 

"That sounds very good," Sherlock said. He stuck his hands in his pocket, pulling out the key once he got to the door. He hung up his coat and moved to turn on the kettle. He put some biscuits on a plate and brought them into the sitting room once the tea was made.

John curled up on the sofa and didn't bother with the telly, eating a biscuit with his tea. 

"Perhaps I'll sleep all day tomorrow," Sherlock said, slouching in his chair. "There's nothing else to do. I actually feel a bit tired even though I've no reason to." He was pouting. He drank some tea.

"I know there's not a lot of work coming in right now but we can go out tomorrow and you can deduce random strangers. If you promise to be a bit nice, that is," he smiled.  

"You're the only one I want to be nice to," Sherlock said. "And to be fair, I'm not sure I said nice -- I just said not cruel." He pulled a face at him. 

"Well tomorrow, you can just deduce things that don't make people cry. Or get angry and want to kill you. That will be the real challenge," he smiled.

"I deduce nothing but facts. If finding those things out about themselves make people cry, that's nothing to do with me," Sherlock said. "Some of your jumpers are ridiculous -- that's not mean, that's the truth. If that makes you feel like crying, don't blame me. Get better jumpers." He broke off a piece of biscuit and threw it at John.

"Hey!" John said, throwing the biscuit back. "I thought we agreed the jumpers were adorable?"

"Adorable, ridiculous, they mean the same, don't they?" Sherlock said, laughing a little.

"They do not! I am going to bed," he announced as if he was offended. He stood and took his mug to the sink, setting a biscuit on Sherlock's head as he passed. 

"Good night, John," Sherlock said. "See you in the morning." He took the biscuit off his head and took a bite. Then he got up and moved to his bedroom.

John got ready for bed and, after laying down, realised that he felt a bit giddy. He pulled the covers over his head and shook it, turning onto his side. This was an odd feeling to be having right now, especially because he hadn't done anything but hang out with Sherlock all day. And then the feeling intensified and he closed his eyes. He was going to sleep it off and everything would be fine. Eventually he drifted off, snoring softly. 

When Sherlock got into bed, he set his alarm again. He'd had a really nice day with John, but that didn't take away his desire to be right. He stared at the ceiling as he narrowed down the details. Nothing related to the beach, ocean, or Hawaii; nothing about jumpers, gardens, parents, or even taxis. Any of those things might show up in John's dream anyway -- it needed to be something that John had not encountered in any way for the last few days.

All of a sudden his phone vibrated, and Sherlock realised he'd fallen asleep while he was thinking. He crept quietly out of his room, paused at John's door to be sure he was asleep, and then went in and over to John's bed.

"John," he whispered. "Your hair is so long. You need a haircut. Let's go to the barbers."

And then, without thinking, Sherlock reached down and touched John's head. "Lean your head back and let me wash your hair." He moved his fingers lightly in John's hair. "This shampoo smells nice. There. You're all done. Washed and trimmed. You look very handsome. You look so handsome that I'd like to kiss you. I kiss your mouth hard and long." He stepped back and watched John for a few minutes and then went back to his room.

Back in his room, Sherlock felt pretty pleased with himself. He was convinced that John would be dreaming of a haircut. He reached over and pulled a piece of paper out of his table. He wrote "You dreamt you were getting a haircut" and listed the time and his initials. It wasn't quite as impressive of a sealed letter in Mrs Hudson's flat, but it'd have to do.

He rolled over and closed his eyes. He did his best to clear his mind -- it took a little while -- but eventually he fell asleep. And he dreamt.

He dreamt of being at the beach with John. John wanted him to go in the ocean, but he didn't want to. He sat in the sand and watched John in the waves until he couldn't see John anymore. He stood up and called John's name, but he still couldn't see him. He ran into the water and swam out. All of a sudden John was there and he was laughing. Then Sherlock was laughing and he lifted his hand to John's hair, running his fingers through the wet strands. He pulled John's head towards him as he leaned in closer.

And then he woke up. He opened his eyes but it didn't seem like morning yet. He checked his phone to confirm it. He got up for a drink of water and then got back into bed.

He thought about the dream. He'd never dreamt about John like that before, but he decided it wasn't really anything to worry about. If anything, it was surely just evidence that his theory was right -- the images of the day, random or not, show up in dreams. No magic whatsoever.


	4. Spending Another Day Together

When John woke up, he could remember his dream. It had started off with him walking by the river when suddenly he was in a shop getting his hair cut. The barber was talking his ear off about the chemistry of hair, how it grew, what it was made of, all of it. He was about to ask him to stop when the chair turned and it was Sherlock cutting his hair. John tilted his head, looking up at him as he put the scissors down and simply pet John's hair, running his fingers through it. He realised the dream had made him feel warm and comfortable, but it also appeared to have given him an erection.

He got out of bed and went into the bathroom, ignoring it while he got dressed. He lay back down for a bit until it had gone completely away before making his way down to the kitchen. Dreaming about Sherlock was becoming a bothersome habit, leaving him a bit frazzled each morning, feeling awkward about seeing Sherlock. He hoped he didn't deduce anything 

Sherlock heard John moving about in the kitchen. He stretched and got up, slipping the paper into his dressing gown pocket and went out to the kitchen.

After John made tea he moved into his chair and started reading the paper again, looking for some kind of case to distract Sherlock. If Sherlock was working on a case he wouldn't have time to deduce John was dreaming about it. He wouldn't have time to ask why John was dreaming about him, which in all honesty, John was still trying to figure out himself. 

"Morning," Sherlock said, looking for but not finding tea. He switched the kettle on and then slid his hand into his pocket, ready for the reveal. He turned and looked over at John. "You look refreshed this morning -- your cheeks are all pink," Sherlock said. He looked at John's hair, which was a little messy from sleep, and decided that John indeed was quite handsome. "Did you dream about Hawaii again?" he asked.

John watched Sherlock come into the sitting room before fixing his eyes pointedly to the newspaper. He simply had to act natural and everything would be fine. "Um no," John said. "I was getting a haircut. Normal, boring stuff," he said. He didn't even look up from the paper, knowing that would give Sherlock a window to read more into everything. 

"So nothing unusual at all?" Sherlock asked as poured the tea and brought it into the sitting room.

"Nothing," John said, ready to end this conversation.

Sherlock thought about the paper in his pocket but, for some reason, he didn't pull it out. "Well, anyway, you look well rested. Have you decided on any plans for today?" He lifted the cup to his face.

"I haven't. I was looking for a case for you, but I've got nothing here. I am going to check the blog in a little bit," he said, raising his mug in thanks. 

"Oh, all right then," Sherlock said. He felt a little strange, like something was going on and he wasn't sure what. Why hadn't he pulled out the paper and proven himself right? Why was he noticing how handsome John was? "Maybe we could do something together," he said feebly.

The words hit John a bit funny, as if he'd given Sherlock the impression that he didn't want to spend time together. It wasn't Sherlock's fault John was having confusing dreams about him. They were just dreams anyway, meaningless. "Of course we can. You know I'm not very creative with plans," he smiled, looking over at him. "Is there anything you'd like to do?"

"Not really," Sherlock admitted. "I think I'll have a bath this morning." He stood up and went in to start the water. He went into his room and got some clothes and his book. "Come up with something, yeah?" he said and disappeared into the bathroom.

John covered his face and sighed softly. They had been for a walk last night, they always went out to eat, Sherlock couldn't stay still enough for a museum . . . his thoughts trailed off and he blinked at the empty chair in front of him. This was a date. He was trying to plan a date for Sherlock and himself! But, no, wait. They spent time together all the time and it never seemed like dating before. Except to Angelo. And Mrs Hudson. And half the people at the Yard. Suddenly the rumours made a lot more sense to him, and he looked around the room as if that would provide the proof he needed to believe it. Was this why he was having romantic dreams about Sherlock? 

When he heard Sherlock come out of the bathroom, John realised he hadn't thought of a plan at all. He picked up the paper and flipped through desperately. "Um," he said. "What about this human body exhibit?" He held up the paper to show Sherlock.

Sherlock was still drying his hair with a towel as he came out, but didn't look over at the newspaper. "Yeah, all right, that sounds interesting," Sherlock said. "I'll treat you to lunch as well -- I meant to get dinner last night to thank you for coming with me to my parents'." He looked over at John. "Are you going to shower before we go?"

"Yeah, I will," John nodded. "Just a few minutes and I'll be ready to go." He hurried up to get his towel and he took a quick shower, deliberately not thinking about Sherlock while he did. He got dressed and then, to his surprise, he changed twice more until he was happy. He grabbed his coat and came back down. "Ready?" 

"Yeah," Sherlock said, getting his coat and heading out. Two days in a row now that they were doing something new together, but the truth was, Sherlock liked the idea of spending time with John outside of work or cases.

For a last minute decision, it turned out to be a pretty good one. They had displays of different skeletons with illnesses and abnormalities, the whole body in just nerves, muscles, and veins. They had cross sections from every angle, skulls of all different sizes, and even muscled bodies in different positions. When they were finally done looking at everything, John was really pleased. "Did you like it?" he asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "It was disgusting and I loved it. Should we get a poster to hang on the bathroom door?" He smiled. "What do you fancy for dinner?"

"If you want a poster, just warn Mrs Hudson before you hang it," John smiled. "And you can pick dinner because I picked this."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Let's go there." He pointed to a restaurant directly across the street.

"Okay. You know I'm not picky," he said. "And besides, you're treating so you should pick."

"I know literally nothing about this place," Sherlock said, smiling. "I only picked it because it was right here. Come on, it's an adventure." He headed out across the street.

"Is it going to be dangerous?" John asked, grinning as he followed him across the street. 

"Possibly," Sherlock said. "It looks like it hasn't be inspected in decades." He pulled the door open for John.

"Oh. That's not the kind of danger I am looking for," he said, picking a table near the back. 

"John, we've spent all day looking at guts -- we don't need any more gore," Sherlock said. "I really never thought I'd hear myself say that." He flicked through the menu. "Anything look good?"

"I think I'll just have a classic fish and chips," he smiled. "It's been a while."

"I'll just get some chips, I think," Sherlock said. He went up to the counter and placed the order. He brought back to pints. "Here -- a treat."

"Oh, thanks. What's the treat for?" he asked. 

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Why not?" He didn't say that for some reason things felt different between them and that he kind of liked it. He didn't know if things were actually different or if John thought they were different or if John liked the difference. He didn't know any of that, and he wasn't interested in thinking about it now.

John smiled wider and clinked their glasses together. "Well that's a good enough reason, I think. Just because." He took a drink and thanked the waitress as the food came. He dug in, humming happily. "This was a good choice."

"Fate, I suppose," Sherlock said. He smiled and picked at his chips. "Back to work tomorrow? Maybe I'll go see Lestrade and see if I can dig something up to keep me busy."

John nodded. "Back to work tomorrow. Hopefully there's a lovely murder for you."

"That's a terrible thing for a doctor to say, John," Sherlock said, smiling. "Are you going to have a stomachache, eating greasy food like this?"

"No, I'm sure I will be okay," John said. "It's not like I'm a health nut."

"Just wondering," Sherlock said. "We could walk home and that could aid in your digestion." Sherlock really had no idea what he was saying -- surely John now must know something was different between them if Sherlock was actually expressing concern about John's avoiding heartburn.

John squinted his eyes at him. "You're acting odd," he said. He finished his drink and wiped his mouth. "I don't mind walking home, though."

"Sorry," Sherlock said. He pushed his plate away and stood up. "Let's head home."

"Don't apologise. It's not a bad thing," John said as they walked out.

Sherlock pushed his hands into his pockets. "Today was a good day," he said quietly. "Enjoyable." He thought about how they normally spent John's day off -- if they didn't have a case, mainly it was just Sherlock irritating John by pouting and distracting him from whatever he was trying to do. He'd never found that very satisfying. But today felt satisfying.

John glanced over at him and felt his cheeks warm. He had the same bodily feeling that he had when he woke up from dreaming about Sherlock. "Yeah, it was really nice," he agreed as they walked.

They walked the rest of the way home. Once they got back into the flat, Sherlock put the kettle on. Then he moved over to his desk and called out to John, "Something from Lestrade!" He opened it up and then groaned. "Forget it -- not a case, a question and the answer doesn't even take any effort. Idiot," he said, closing his laptop.

"Sorry," John said, taking his tea and settling into the sofa. "What was he asking about anyways?"

"Some poison. How can he be in charge of solving murders if he doesn't even know the simplest of things?" Sherlock said, standing up and moving to the sofa. He might have even been stomping his feet slightly. Then he realised he was pouting and couldn't decide if that would ruin John's day. So he tried to stop and concentrated on his tea instead.

"Well, not all of us make a habit of meddling in poisons." He made an exaggerated attempt to examine his tea.

"Please don't refer to my work as meddling, John," Sherlock said. "I do _not_ meddle," he said, completely ignoring the fact that last night he had done precisely that with John's dream.

"I'm pretty sure it's meddling when you poison me to watch me lose a whole day," John teased.

"Whatever," Sherlock said. "Experiments in the name of science are not meddling." There, he reminded himself, that's all last night way: an experiment to prove a point. A point he still hadn't mentioned to John yet. 

"If that's what you have to tell yourself to sleep at night," John smiled. "Speaking of, I should be getting to bed. I have an early day tomorrow."

"All right then," Sherlock, standing up. "I'll read in my room, I think, for a while. Good night." He tapped John's arm -- something he'd probably done a million times -- but it felt different to him tonight. He headed into his room.


	5. Sherlock Ups The Ante

John touched the spot on his arm that Sherlock had touched and he went to his room, the spot tingling lightly. He shook his head. He knew what was happening, recognised the things he was feeling, but it just couldn't be. Was he being affected by his dreams? Maybe he should put his focus into not seeing Sherlock. Maybe they should spend less time together. It took him longer to fall asleep that night, his mind debating both options until he did.

Sherlock lay down on his bed and opened his book. He read a few pages and then set his alarm again to wake in time for John's REM sleep. He wasn't quite sure why he did, he wasn't consciously planning on going in again. He closed his book. _There is no point in lying to yourself, Sherlock Holmes_ , the voice in his head told him. He went back to reading. Eventually he turned off his light but felt like he couldn't sleep -- all he was doing was anticipating his alarm. When it finally vibrated, he hadn't slept at all. He got up quietly, stopped at John's room and pushed open the door.

John was asleep on his bed. Sherlock moved closer and then lay down on the bed beside him. He was flat on his back, looking at John's ceiling and listening to John's breath. "John," he whispered. "Let's go to Hawaii."

John shifted lightly, turning onto his side, unknowingly facing Sherlock. He was snoring softly now, the covers loose over his waist.

"It's warm and sunny, I imagine you'd like that. We're on the beach. But no one else is there because I'd like that," Sherlock whispered. He turned his head towards John. "I'd like it if was just me and you." He shifted his body slightly, trying not to let his voice or movement wake John. "The waves are making a nice sound. It's relaxing." Sherlock closed his mind and imagined it, and it _was_ relaxing. He still felt anxious, but he could feel himself relaxing a bit. He opened his eyes and looked over at John. The lines on his face were still there but seemed softer, his hair a little messy. "You're so handsome," he whispered. 

John wrinkled his nose lightly -- a reaction to Sherlock's breath that he wasn't even aware of. He shifted a bit closer, still sleeping.

"We're in the water, John," Sherlock whispered. "I want to kiss you -- can I kiss you?"

John shifted a bit closer, his forehead dropping onto Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock pulled his body back a little, but he leaned his head in and kissed John's lips lightly. His eyes were closed and, in his mind, he could see them -- in the waves, in the sun, alone on a Hawaiian beach. He pulled his face back and slipped from the bed and the room. He rushed into his room and slid under his covers. There were a million questions in his head. Were there answers there, too?

_Why did you go into John's room and kiss him?_ I wanted to. I wanted to kiss John.

_You've spent the last two days with him -- why not do it then?_ Because . . .

This was a hard one. Sherlock often acted on impulse. How he managed to control himself all day?

_Think harder. Why did you wait until John was asleep?_ Because I didn't think John would want this.

_So you waited until he had no say in the matter?_ No . . . yes, but I asked. His movement -- didn't Dreaming John at least say yes?

_Did John say yes, Sherlock?_ No. John did not say yes. 

_I'll ask again. Why did you do that?_ Because I wanted to . . . even if John didn't.

_And is that kind, Sherlock?_ No. It's cruel.

Sherlock rolled over on his side and for the first time in years, he cried.

John shivered and pulled the covers up a bit. His mind slipped into a lovely dream about Hawaii again. He was with Sherlock and felt happy. They were swimming -- he'd convinced Sherlock to get into the water with him and as a reward now they were kissing. John moaned softly, focusing on the kiss. When he woke up in the morning he was hard again, but this time as he waited for it to go away, he smiled thinking about that kiss.

He got up, took a quick shower and went down for a quick breakfast. He found a notebook and jotted a note for Sherlock.

_Left early so I can try to come home faster. Do the laundry please? Thanks. See you._

He signed it and left, hailing a cab.

After everything that had gone in his head, Sherlock finally slept soundly. When he opened his eyes, he listened for John but didn't hear any noises in the flat. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to change what he had done -- even change what he had felt -- so that he didn't have to deal with any of it. He lay there for almost a half hour until his bladder was about to burst, and he had to get up. He slipped into the bathroom and then back into his room to dress. John had clearly already gone to work, for which Sherlock was very grateful, but he realised he needed to be away from all of this to try to figure out what to do. He grabbed his coat and scarf and headed out for a walk.

John was still thinking about his dream as he saw patients, which left him a bit absent minded at some points of the day. He kept trying to get back on track, but it was hard to do. He was considering telling Sherlock what he had dreamt, just to see how he was going to react to it. He was nervous about that. Were things different between them or was it just the effects of all of these dreams? At lunch he texted Sherlock, trying to keep acting normal until he knew what he wanted to do.

_How's your day going? -JW_

Sherlock had walked first to see Lestrade, but he had nothing to offer him and Sherlock ended up snapping at him and stomping out for no real reason. Then he went to the park. He was sitting on a bench, trying to observe every detail in his eyeline simply to avoid thinking about what he had done last night. His phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket. He couldn't face anything to do with John right now.

_Fine. SH_

He hit Send, hoping that answering abruptly was better than not answering at all. He realised he could no longer distract himself from the problem at hand. He had to figure it out. He picked up his phone again.

_Why don't you have any friends? SH_

He set the phone on his leg and waited for the answer.

_Because friends are an unnecessary distraction. MH_

Sherlock read the message and slipped the phone in his pocket. It vibrated again. He pulled it out and read the text.

_You prove my point. You could be working but you are distracted. MH_

_He is my friend now. I can't ignore that. SH_

_Then clean up your mess and stop dwelling. I am working. You and your friend should not be distracting me. MH_

Sherlock did not bother to respond. Mycroft was right.

His phone vibrated again, but he didn't take it out of his pocket. 

John had pulled his phone out eagerly but deflated a bit when he saw Sherlock's short message. Was he angry about the laundry? John didn't understand. He saw his last few patients before answering and instead just sent a quick one.

_I'm on my way home. See you soon. -JW_

He realised he added the last part for some kind of assurance that he really would see Sherlock again. They'd never really gone this long without texting. What was Sherlock doing without him? He felt odd, almost scared a bit. He couldn't explain it so he tried ignoring it, heading home.

Sherlock sat in the park a while longer until he realised he was freezing. He walked to a cafe to get a cup of tea. He took out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down his options.

When John walked into the flat, he knew right away that he was alone. "Sherlock?" he called out uselessly, knowing it wasn't going to do him any good. He moved into the kitchen and saw his note was exactly where he left it. He felt his stomach twisting with guilt as he moved around the flat, gathering up the unwashed laundry. He didn't understand what had happened. They had such a good time while John was home, and now Sherlock wouldn't even answer a message. He tried to think about what he had done wrong but nothing came to mind. Then again it was so hard to tell with Sherlock.

He checked the pockets of everything he was tossing into the machine, humming with surprise when he actually found something. It was a crumpled paper in Sherlock's dressing gown pocket. John looked around for a moment before opening it and reading the message inside. _You dreamt of getting a haircut._ "No," he breathed softly. 

Suddenly everything made sense. Everything. He was always so bloody slow at catching on to these experiments. Sherlock had been trying to control John's dreams -- probably just because John had proven he could do it. He thought back to all of the dreams he remembered and wondered how many Sherlock had manipulated. He was getting angry and he crumpled the paper with a growl. All this time he thought something was happening between them, and Sherlock was planting these ideas into his head just to be right. He threw the paper at the wall and leaned against the opposite one.

_But look at the dreams he gave you. And he didn't gloat when you mentioned your dream about the hair,_ John's brain pointed out. John rubbed his temples for a moment. Why was Sherlock forcing John to dream about them kissing? Had he done that or was that John's own subconscious because of the other dreams? He didn't know what was real anymore, and he was really glad he hadn't said anything to Sherlock about any feelings. Two could play at this game. His confusion turned to determination, and, after starting the washer, he pulled out his phone. 

_Thanks for doing the laundry. -JW_

This time, Sherlock reached for his phone and read the first message and the one about the laundry. John had come home very early. Sherlock looked up at the table -- at the empty tea cups and crumpled papers -- and then looked out the window. It was dark. John wasn't early, Sherlock had been sitting there for hours. His eyes went back to the text. He couldn't talk to John now -- if he was already cross about the laundry, this would not be the time to confess what Sherlock had done.

Because that's what he'd decided to do: confess. It was the only thing he could do.

But not yet. That would have to wait -- until when? Sherlock didn't know that answer.

With no answer from Sherlock, John paced. His mind raced with different ideas. Should he go out and let Sherlock come home to an empty flat? Not answer his own phone when Sherlock tried to find him? Should he rant about knowing what Sherlock had done? He sank down on the sofa and covered his face. He couldn't do any of that. Sherlock experimented on him all the time. Always. That's all this was. John looked up again, realising that if Sherlock's not gloating meant one thing: that his experiment wasn't done yet. He hadn't found the results he was looking for so that meant he was going to try again. John went up to his room and got ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and wore only his pants as he crawled under the covers. 

_Don't do anything stupid, wherever you are. I am going to bed. -JW_

That was the message Sherlock had been waiting for. John was going to bed. Now Sherlock could go home like the coward he was and avoid taking responsibility for a few more hours. He stood up, put on his coat and scarf and headed home.

But there was no real relief. Now he not only felt bad about what he had done last night, he also felt bad for being horrible to John all day. And despite Sherlock's behaviour, John's message implied a bit of concern. John was kind even when Sherlock was doubly unkind.

And what made everything a million times worse is that Sherlock realised he'd never be able to even think about the good times with John again without feeling the pangs of guilt. The trip to his parents, the exhibit -- those things had made Sherlock felt warm inside and now he'd never feel that again.

Inside the flat, Sherlock looked up to John's bedroom. The door was closed and no light peeked through the bottom. Sherlock moved quietly to his own room. He kicked off his shoes and began to undress, slipping his phone from his pocket and setting it on the table. Once in his pajamas, he turned off the light and looked at the messages from John. He read and reread them and then closed the texts. He noticed the alarm icon on his phone, the one he had set last night so he could get up and control John's dreams. He started to feel sick and guilty again. He got up and moved to John's door. He pushed the door open slightly and whispered, "John?"

John, who was facing the door, closed his eyes and kept his breathing soft and even. He was going to catch Sherlock in the act. They could talk about it or ignore it, but John was not going to let himself be manipulated every night for another experiment.

Sherlock stepped into the room and moved over to the bed, listening to John's breath pattern and slipping into the bed once he realised John was asleep. He lay there quietly for a moment before whispering, "John, we're at the beach again. I've got to tell you something. I've done something wrong."

John concentrated on his breath, still pretending to be asleep.

"Last night . . . " Sherlock whispered. "I kissed you. I'm sorry -- I shouldn't have done it. I'll never do something like that again. So please just dream of the beach without me. Find someone's who kind and dream of them. I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry."

John stayed completely still. Sherlock had kissed him? He didn't understand -- he'd thought the kiss was just an idea Sherlock had put in John's head. What was Sherlock doing? It seemed now he felt guilty and was trying to manipulate an apology into John's dreams, instead of saying one properly. John waited to see if there would be more.

Sherlock swallowed lightly. "I wanted to kiss you. For real. And I knew you wouldn't want to so I took advantage. Because I am horrible. Maybe if I weren't, you'd want me too. But it's too late. You give me so much, John, and I only take. I'm so sorry. You deserve a better friend. You deserve better." He slipped from the bed and made his way back to his room.

John opened his eyes and watched Sherlock leave the room. _I wanted to kiss you for real and I knew you wouldn't want to_. He sat up and climbed out of bed. He paused outside of Sherlock's room, staring at the door. He pushed the door open and climbed into Sherlock's bed, facing his back. "I do want to," he said quietly. "There is nobody better than you."

Sherlock took in a quick breath, trying to figure out what had happened. He didn't turn over, even when John got into his bed. "That's not true, John," he whispered. "I don't know how to act properly. I shouldn't have done it."

"Maybe you don't know how to act but maybe that doesn't matter," John said. "Why don't you show me what you did and I'll be the one to decide if it was wrong."

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He didn't even know if he _could_ do it when John was awake. Would John make fun of him? He turned over slowly, not letting his body move any closer to John. He leaned in and kissed John lightly, just as he had done and it made him feel warm and good, despite his guilt and embarrassment.

"Well, that doesn't seem so bad," John said.  "I didn't like thinking it was only for the dream. You were in all of my dreams and I know that you did that but it was nice. And then our last two days together felt different, better. Did they feel different to you?" He met Sherlock's gaze and continued before he could answer. "I liked them. I want more days like that."

"It has felt different," Sherlock said softly. "I thought it was just me." He looked away from John. "What do we do now?"

"In general or right this second? Because... right this second I'd like to kiss you again. And not on some far away beach," he smiled.

"You want to kiss me?" Sherlock asked. "Are you teasing, John?"

John shook his head and scooted a bit closer.

"Will you show me how to do it right?" Sherlock asked as he moved his hand over and rested it lightly on John's chest.

John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, kissing him a bit harder than he meant to. 

Sherlock melted into the kiss. It was a million times better because he knew John wanted it, too. He closed his eyes, but this time he didn't see them in Hawaii. He saw them in his bed, in their flat at 221B Baker Street. He saw his best friend, John Watson, lying next to him and kissing him.

John touched his cheek and stroked lightly, humming softly as Sherlock returned the kiss.  He felt his whole body warming with happiness. This was so much better than a tropical beach, so much better than a dream. Because it was real


End file.
